


best laid plans

by lightsaroundyourvanity



Category: RWBY
Genre: Beeunion, F/F, v8c10 coda
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-28
Updated: 2021-02-28
Packaged: 2021-03-19 06:01:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,109
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29746059
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lightsaroundyourvanity/pseuds/lightsaroundyourvanity
Summary: By the time they hang up the call, Yang is sure of one thing: The next time she sees Blake, she is going to grab her by the waist and kiss her.
Relationships: Blake Belladonna/Yang Xiao Long
Comments: 24
Kudos: 279





	best laid plans

Yang’s heart has been in her throat for what feels like hours, for what feels like days, humming and hammering, nerves and adrenaline and a plan that never seems to stop changing.

And Blake, Blake on the back of her mind like a film strip that’s running on an endless loop.

Yang sees Blake everywhere, in the broken shadow of the moon, in shades of purple on the tundra, in everything she says to Ren or Jaune or Oscar, in every comment that is hiding Blake’s name on the tip of her tongue like the snuffer that covers the flame.

She’d thought that Blake would come with her when she’d left for the crater. When she’d stayed with Ruby, Yang had worked hard not to show it, but the pit of her stomach had dropped, made a sickening thud when it hit the ground.

They were supposed to be partners. They were supposed to be in perfect synch. And if even Blake isn’t backing Yang up – well, Yang can’t stop wondering if she’s chosen wrong.

( _It’s not about that_ , Blake tells her in their quick goodbye. It had been brief, too brief, Yang’s hands fluttering towards Blake’s waist but never quite daring to touch.

_It feels like it’s about that_ , Yang grumbles.

_We have to make our own choices_ , says Blake. _Even when they’re not…_

She trails off, and Yang feels it sear a path along her bones. _We promised,_ she says. It comes out more churlishly than she’d intended, stubborn and shrill.

Blake doesn’t take the bait. _I know. But we’ll see each other soon._ )

Yang wears Blake’s absence like a hollow locket around her neck and tries not to dwell on it. She doesn’t always succeed. At the outpost she holds a purple rod of dust in her hand and it’s so warm and alive that it nearly has a pulse and Yang misses Blake with a physical ache, so true and so near that the snuffer slips loose and words rise and break on the surface like unruly bubbles or seabream.

( _Do you think she thinks less of me?_ Yang asks Jaune. He doesn’t follow her lead, and when Yang thinks about extrapolating, she loses her nerve.)

There are a thousand moments that Yang thinks could have gone differently if Blake had been by her side, the counterweight that makes her unstoppable. If she’d had Blake to tether her, maybe they could have stopped the hound from taking Oscar. Maybe they could have subdued the Ace Ops, the way they had back on Atlas. Maybe, if only, perhaps. Yang is swimming in what ifs and possibilities. It shakes her confidence, and she hates that.

(It reminds her too much of those long, hopeless hours after the fall of Beacon, her arm a bandaged stump, her drive drifting carelessly away on the winter breeze, and Blake crossing the ocean and breaking Yang’s heart with all the methodical repetition of an infinity mirror.)

Nobody’s opinion has ever meant quite as much to Yang as Blake’s does, and this isn’t a revelation, but it still startles her every time. Blake has threaded her way through Yang like the tiny white flowers that grow out of sidewalk cracks, and Yang can’t extract that, can’t even bear to try.

( _A part of me is missing,_ she told her dad months ago. There had been layers to her words that even Yang hadn’t known, not then, maybe not even later, when she looked up and saw Blake unexpectedly, dramatically framed in the open doorway of Haven academy. She knows it now.)

Yang’s boots are squishing through grotesque whale flesh, a nuclear weapon on her heels and the devil in her eyeline, and still her mind keeps flitting back to their short goodbye (brief, too brief). Yang thinks that she might die here, literally in the belly of the beast, and her fingertips tingle with grief. Yang wishes that she had let them rest on Blake’s waist when she’d had the chance.

She’ll make sure that this isn’t her last chance.

(Yang has already done so much careful rebuilding with Blake, the tiny moments on the train to Argus, the enormous moments on a cliffside by the sea. She can’t throw all of that away at the height of the third act.)

When the whale finally blows, blinding white light, one hell of a blaze of glory, Yang’s heart pounds out words in morse code; words like _exhilaration_ and _relief_ and _holy fucking shitballs_. And she takes a deep breath and realizes that she is still alive. Still Yang Xiao Long.

Yang lets her eyes sweep the ground and she sees the rest of them have made it too, even Oscar, his clothing torn and filthy from the explosion, another film of unearthliness over his eyes that Yang can’t unpack just yet. Even Emerald, who Yang can’t look directly at right now (or maybe ever) without igniting into red hot anger.

But Yang is _alive._ And Blake—

\--Blake is calling her scroll. Yang’s eyes widen. She answers, and sees Blake gnawing on a fingernail, worry etched in every line of her face. Knots begin to unravel inside Yang, a tiny sunrise glows behind her eyes. She feels it pressing against her cheekbones and the bridge of her nose until she’s completely suffused with insistent warmth. Call it relief, call it love, call it whatever you want, but Yang’s whole body sighs when she hears Blake say her name, when she hears Weiss give her the map to their doorstep.

By the time they hang up the call, Yang is sure of one thing: The next time she sees Blake, she is going to grab her by the waist and kiss her.

Yang mulls over how she’ll do it on the long, tense walk to Schnee Manor. Should she bend Blake back dramatically, really lay one on her? Yang thinks about overwhelming Blake, really sweeping her off her feet, and it makes her skin tingle.

(Blake bowls Yang over with such easy grace. Yang thinks back to their first days on Atlas, Blake asking Yang what she thought of her haircut, blushing so adorably that Yang stumbled over her words. Yang would like to return the favour. She likes the idea of rendering well spoken, cool Blake speechless.)

Maybe this isn’t the time for theatrics. Maybe Yang should kiss Blake gently, like a reassuring balm. She’ll cradle Blake’s face between her hands and kiss her softly. She’ll hold Blake’s face between her hands, and Blake will turn to press a kiss to Yang’s palm. It’s infinitely sweet, and Yang’s knees turn to water just imagining it.

(Another night in Atlas, Blake and Yang had been dancing close, in their own private world despite the crowded club they were in, and Yang had held Blake’s face just like that. _You’re beautiful,_ she says, half-drunk on the nearness of Blake’s skin and the potential in the air.

Blake’s mouth opens but before she can speak, she’s drowned out by the sirens that start to wail throughout the city. The moment fizzles and passes. The moment never returns.)

Maybe Yang will say something romantic ( _I missed you)_ or play it cool ( _Miss me, sweetheart?)_ before kissing Blake so thoroughly that violins start to swell in the background.

Once again, Yang is drowning in what ifs and maybes – and yet. There’s one sure thing this time. The next time Yang sees Blake, she is going to kiss her. And she draws closer every second, her footsteps pointing the way.

When they arrive at the mansion, first person Yang sees is Ruby. Yang longs for Blake, but the sheer adoration and gratitude that swells in her chest wipes it off the map for an instant when her little sister flings herself into Yang’s arms, legs kicking, tears rolling down her cheeks.

( _What are you saying? You don’t trust Ruby?_ Blake asks in those stolen moments before the teams separate.

_Of course not!_ Yang protests. _I love Ruby. I believe in her. But Mantle needs… we all need more than idealism sometimes, you know?_

Yang feels the echo of her hand shaking, of not-so-forgotten fear and pain when she says it. She’d played hero at Beacon, when she’d had no choice. She hadn’t liked the results.)

It was never about them fighting, but Yang is still happy to be back with her team. She’s a little misty eyed herself when Ruby finally lets her go and Yang folds Weiss into a hug next. Yang has missed Weiss, who will always be prickly, who will always be kind, more than Weiss can ever know.

But Yang is still searching for Blake. She finds her -- still hanging in the doorway, just like she had at Haven. She spots Blake and it’s like the clouds start to part, it’s like violins really start to swell.

Yang’s breath catches in her throat. This is her shot. This is the plan: She’s going to walk right up to Blake and kiss her.

She just has to take the first step.

(Blake looks so hesitant, her ears drooping, her eyes downcast, and Yang wonders how much unspoken anxiety they’ve shared over the past few days.)

She just has to take the next step.

(Blake’s eyes close, and Yang’s lungs seem to compress. Has Blake missed her? Had Yang misheard the crack in Blake’s voice when she’d called?)

Yang just has to take the third step, and the fourth, and soon Blake is close enough to touch, and Yang builds up a head of courage and steam. She reaches for Blake, cups her cheek, gently pushes Blake to look up at her, watches Blake open her eyes.

Blake’s eyes shine like sunlight, and Yang uncurls like a flower in the spring. Blake is so, so beautiful when she smiles. Yang’s thumb skates over Blake’s cheekbone, and she feels her own cheeks grow hot. Now is her moment. She just has to tilt Blake’s chin up and draw their mouths together. Blake is so close that Yang can practically taste her. Yang is longing to taste her. She wants to slide her hands over Blake’s curves and let her hand rest on Blake’s waist, pull them flush together, never let go of Blake again. She’s going to do it. She’s made _plans._

(A split second later, Yang loses her nerve. This is too overwhelming a moment, too raw. There are moments, and then there are _moments,_ and Yang is drowning in so many emotions right now that maybe she’s forgotten how to kiss, okay?)

Instead their foreheads bump together, echoes of waterfalls and a hundred things left unsaid.

Yang doesn’t say a word, but Blake hears her anyway. _I kept my promise._

Blake doesn’t say a word, but Yang hears it all the same. _I knew you would._

A volley returned, a conversation rooted in memory instead of sounds. Yang loses her nerve, but there’s sweet comfort here anyway. She breathes in the violet of Blake’s aura, breathes out relief. She could stay here forever, her port in the churning sea.

And no, they never kiss, but Yang feels Blake’s fingertips fluttering towards her waist and come to rest there. Yang thinks about ballerinas twirling in music boxes, the way they exist in their own private worlds, tinny music on infinite thirty second loops. This is how Yang feels right now, locked with Blake in a tentative embrace. This is where Yang wants to stay forever.

Just like the night at the club, they are torn open by sirens, an emergency broadcast. Yang flinches. She wants to cringe away from the noise. She wants to grab Blake’s hand tightly and never let go. She wants to crawl into a cave and take a very long nap. Haven’t they all been through enough?

Yang looks at Blake sidelong, and her courage refreshes itself. Hasn’t she survived the belly of the beast? Hasn’t she punched god in the tits and lived to tell the tale? And now she’s rediscovered her counterweight, her unstoppable other half. Whatever the universe has to throw at them next, Yang and Blake can make a tripwire that will foul its plans.

Ironwood drones out his threats, his ultimatums and _Citizen Kane_ lightning and Yang’s hands ball into fists. They were going to take that sucker _down:_ She and Blake, she and the rest of RWBY, she and everyone in Atlas and Mantle who still has the courage to stand up and fight.

And afterwards, when the dust settles and the trumpets sound, Yang isn’t going to lose her nerve. She’s going to claim that kiss.

**Author's Note:**

> bee nation how we feeling!?!? this is for [nirav](https://archiveofourown.org/users/nirav/pseuds/nirav) loosely based on [a text post she made earlier today](https://fiddleabout.tumblr.com/post/644291876370956288)


End file.
